MELANCHOLY AND THUNDER

I retreat deeply within myself when I'm depressed - existing in a satisfying  realm of private, impenetrable melancholy.
I don't want to communicate with anyone other than myself. I don't want interlopers invading my thoughts.

No need for alarmists to be concerned. This melancholic retreat has been a life-long habit. I eventually emerge, unscathed and reasonably intact.
A plausible theory is that my Hungarian Magyar blood and artistic soul are the main culprits.

I've never been uniform nor mainstream. And, strangely enough, I'm extremely glad. 

I've lost count of my problems and maladies  - which are increasing drastically and mercilessly with age. Each year is more complicated than the last, until there comes a point where the web in which I'm enmeshed becomes inescapable.

We all weave are own private webs. Mine is a vastly complex labyrinth of eminent destruction.

I'd be surprised if I'm making sense.
I'm talking to myself, which - if done too frequently - becomes a bad habit.

Last night:
long, sleepless, endlessly humid. No coyotes, but frequent packs of wild dogs - which, to me, are more disconcerting. A few distant gunshots in the woods, then silence.
The silence eventually became alive with restless crickets and rowdy owls.
My suffocating room swarming with insolent mosquitoes. 

Today:
Up extremely early to do some work outside. Sleepless and physically ravaged, I forced myself to dress and venture out. 
Within an exhausting hour, black clouds were quickly accumulating. When I hurried inside it was darker than midnight's shadow. Unbelievably violent claps of thunder shook the house with Herculean force and the rain descended like a Biblical torrent.

My two cats retreated to safer realms. My mid-day meal was much more unpleasant than I initially anticipated.

Why am I writing this? I have nothing interesting or important to say. I have no desire to be entertaining or congenial.

Why do I blog? It's a useless and thankless endeavor.
I'm not in the mood to reply to comments......or to comment on other blogs.
But this mood will eventually pass.
Eventually.

I value those few people who still remain and put up with me. 
The number is dwindling quickly.

As for those who flee.....alas, it's their loss....

MELANCHOLY

I had to remove my previous post, Disaster, because it was too humiliating - too depressing. I always tell too much.

The sight of me having to drag myself (with my arms) up the hill to my house because my legs gave out isn't exactly appealing. But it's a raw reality.

I have tried for two consecutive days (yesterday and today) to get into my car and drive to town - and failed miserably both times. As soon as I attempt to get in (or out of) the car my left leg "freezes up" from the pain in my hip and I can't move.

I either need the Jaws of Life or the hands of God to extract me from the friggin' vehicle. 

I can just picture myself crawling on the Walmart parking lot.

I desperately need to get supplies. Will try again next week....... he says with little enthusiasm.

One fragment of optimism: 
I did manage to get the car started today. I have to change the wires and battery terminals but I'm NOT in the mood.

I'm presently deeply entrenched in melancholia. Blame it on my magyar blood. Melancholic moods are rampant among the gypsies.
Incidentally, melancholia is entirely different from depression. Melancholy is steeped in brooding romanticism and yearning nostalgia.

Is this a subtle excuse for a transition?

 Since most of my recent posts are filled with complaints, I'll end this one with some melancholic music:
my piano arrangement of Lalena (written by Donovan).
Jane Olivor sang this song better than anyone.

Lalena used to be in my late-night repertoire when I played the piano in bars and cafes in L.A. and Hollywood.

I posted this video before, but - hell, it's worth a second look.

RAINY NIGHT

Last night, long after midnight, listening to the endless drone of the rain, chilled with a deeply penetrating melancholy......
...... I'm sipping my second cup of tea and sifting through old recordings of half-remembered songs. Trying to resurrect old memories - - perhaps trying to expunge recent ones.

I found this video which I made a few years ago. It's perfect for a rainy night.
Marlene Dietrich singing Bitte Geh Nicht Fort (Please Don't Go).

The song was written by Jacques Brel and was originally called Ne Me Quitte Pas (Don't Leave Me). 

I posted this video on my blog about two years ago but thought it is worthy of posting again.

Blame it on my melancholic mood.


Video best viewed full-screen

AUTUMNAL EPITAPH

Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
make dust our paper
and with rainy eyes write sorrow
on the bosom of the earth.

from Richard II, Shakespeare

Every once in a while a dusty quote from my poetic youth comes to mind, as a sober reminder of days that were once filled with an insatiable quest for knowledge and the uncanny ability to retain it.

Those days have long vanished. Lately I have trouble enough remembering my own phone number, let alone the intricate effusions of literary masters.....

......but yesterday, while rambling through the fading autumn foliage in the nearby woods, I was suddenly recalling soliloquies from Shakespeare that I learned in college decades ago.

So what's my point?
The mind works in strange ways.
And I've probably been alone in the wilderness too long.

This mild autumn weather will end soon, with frigid temperatures predicted to move in this weekend. I'm dreading it.

My walks in the woods are always a blessed inspiration: providing the (temporary) rejuvenation of a weary soul and a rare time for uninterrupted thought.
I'm in a deeply melancholic mood - which many people don't understand, but which has always been a part of my nature.

The fleeting beauty of golden autumn is a time for remembrance....and a somber reminder of all the subtractions that have extinguished the light along the path of our lives.

The golden moments are precious but all too brief.

 

 

I'm always delighted that I only have to wander a few feet from my back porch to get these photos.

GLOOMY OCTOBER

This morning, near my bedroom window

It seems incredible that I would use gloomy and October together, since October is my favorite month and I savor this time of year. I'm in one of my notorious deep depressions, the tainted root of which is so firmly ensconced in the darkest depths of my enigmatic psyche that neither the wisdom of Freud nor the power of a steamroller could extract it or straighten it out.

Jon, you have a frighteningly unique way with words. Too bad it doesn't attract readers.

Kemo Sabe, my uniqueness is reserved for only a discriminating few who have incredibly good taste. If I appealed to the mundane masses I'd be worried.

Why bother with doom and gloom - when you're enjoying your favorite season and finally living in a peaceful place, surrounded by the beauty of nature?

If only it were that simple. There are no entirely happy endings. Life - no matter where we are - is an endless series of complications, unexpected unpleasantness, detours, insurmountable problems, and agonizing tribulations.

Care to expound?

Naw, it would take too long. Besides, I'm still missing the "i" key cap on my laptop keyboard (or "I" key, for you purists) and it's annoyingly difficult to type anything of great length.
I've completely forgiven Bosco, but I still see "i" keys every time I look at him.

If you didn't read my previous blog post you won't have any idea of what I'm talking about......
.....but that's okay. I'm always an enjoyable read, even if I'm incomprehensible.

This final week of October has been rainy, chilly, and dreary. Perfect Halloween weather. There is always a deep sadness in my soul (or what's left of it) when October dwindles to a few precious days. I'm especially disheartened this year, because I've been too busy and distracted to enjoy the month. It literally flew by almost unnoticed.

The foliage was reluctant to change into beautiful autumn colors until late in the month, and now - suddenly - the peak of the splendor is gone. Trees are shedding the last of their leaves very quickly and I'm certain that by Halloween autumn will only be a naked echo.

I'm glad that I walked on my property last Friday and took photos - on a warm, sunny day. I went again on Monday, but it was rainy and dank. And I walked today, in a chilly drizzle - trudging through piles of wet leaves and soggy earth. I made a walking stick out of a sturdy branch, which saved me from falling on my ass again.

I took more photos today, only because it will probably be my last chance to enjoy and document the foliage. Every day the trees are more bare and prospect of winter is unnervingly evident.

Some of today's photos:

My cat Scratch demands to go outdoors every day, despite the weather. She got soaked today from the rain.

  

Note:

All photos copyrighted by Jon 

Use and distribution is prohibited, by pain of death (I don't know exactly what that means, but it sounds official).

Violators will be stripped, publicly humiliated (use your imagination), tarred, feathered, ridiculed, forced to watch a speech by Hillary Clinton (which should kill you) and afterwards your quivering carcass will be hung in the public square, to be devoured by hungry pigeons.

......come to think of it, pigeons don't eat meat, do they??

AUTUMN

I've often described myself as having an autumnal soul. It probably seems like an obscure description by a shameless romantic. I can only justify it by saying that the intense beauty of autumn perfectly reflects the depths of my inner self.

I was cursed with a profoundly melancholic nature: moody, sensitive, sentimental, self-absorbed, tinged with an undefinable yearning and sadness that has haunted me since childhood. These feelings most often surface at the end of summer and are nurtured under the spell of the autumnal equinox.

Don't expect this to make sense. I'm babbling to myself.

Last night I made a video tribute to autumn. I had no trouble deciding what music to use. The Andante from the Second Piano Concerto by Dimitri Shostakovich is one of my all-time favorite pieces. Ironically, I was never a staunch fan of Shostakovich, but I think this Andante is one of the most superbly beautiful compositions ever written. 

Composer Dimitri Shostakovich with his cat

(all good musicians love cats)

 
Shostakovich wrote his Second Piano Concerto (in F major) in 1957 and dedicated it to his nineteen-year-old son Maxim. Maxim performed the premiere of the concerto at his graduation from the Moscow Conservatory.

Warning:
My video is 6 minutes long - which might seem an eternity if you don't like classical music. 
If you love autumn I think it's worth watching. Full-screen is definitely best.

available on my YouTube channel Jayveesonata